


From Me to You

by cryptidkisser



Series: Something on the Horizon [1]
Category: Cookie Run (Video Game), Cookie Run Kingdom (Video Game)
Genre: ChiliRye - Freeform, Cookie Run Kingdom, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Game: Cookie Run: Kingdom, Hurt/Comfort, Lesbians, Pining, Rivalry, RyeChili, description of injury, haven't written fic in 7 years let's go, hello cookie run community let's hear it for the girls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:34:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29348997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryptidkisser/pseuds/cryptidkisser
Summary: There are lot of things in life that Rye has simply had to grit her teeth and struggle through, whether she liked it or not. Her whole life's been like that, really. Getting separated from the exploration group following a nasty run-in with a gang of goblins is one of those things. Having to keep an eye on her injured sworn enemy is the cherry on top. But as the night burns on, she finds she doesn't resent it quite as much as she thought she would.
Relationships: Chili Pepper Cookie/Rye Cookie (Cookie Run), Rye Cookie/Chili Pepper Cookie (Cookie Run)
Series: Something on the Horizon [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2155845
Comments: 14
Kudos: 34





	From Me to You

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello, this will likely be in a series of connected slowburn fics for these two. As an important note, they’re not actual cookies in this fic. They’re like, humanoids with some vaguely cookie-esque properties. Also Chili Pepper bleeds something similar to hot sauce. Sue me.

* * *

Dusty floorboards creak and whine under the romp of heavy footsteps as Rye bursts through the door of the rundown mill. She grunts as she shifts the weight of Chili Pepper, who’s slung like a sack of jelly jam over her back. The door rattles in its frame from a gale of wind blasting down the streets of the ghost town. She spares a sharp look over her shoulder to make sure none of the torrential downpour will reach them. It’s the last thing either of them need.

There’s a muffled groan near Rye’s ear, followed by a sharp intake of breath. The bounty hunter hesitates at the sound but doesn’t stop in her trek further into the abandoned mill. She only comes to a halt once she reaches a back room without any windows or doors. Her gaze roams around the darkened room. It’s started to succumb to the tides of time, with a leak in the far left corner and no heat whatsoever. The only solace it provides is a roof over their head and somewhere for Rye to place Chili Pepper. Good. That’s all that matters right now.

“Goin’ down,” she warns Chili Pepper as she descends the short wooden staircase into the workroom. There’s no acknowledgment from the other woman, save for a pained grunt when Rye steps down a little too hard. She feels Chili Pepper start to squirm. All it takes is a harsh squeeze to the thief’s wrist to get her to settle down.

A bunch of old, decrepit tables take up most of the space in the room. After inspecting a few, Rye picks the one that looks the least like it’s about to cave in. She wonders how she should do this. She’s tended to wounds before, though none in conditions quite as shitty as this. The bounty hunter clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth in annoyance. Well, she had always been a hands-on learner. Best time to start was now. She turns around and lines the back of Chili Pepper’s legs up with the longest side of the table.

“Alright, Pepper. Heave ho.” The last words push out past gritted teeth as Rye squats down and leans back, struggling to put Chili Pepper down gently. Thankfully, the thief manages to catch on. Rye feels the arms looped over her aching shoulders slip away, then Chili Pepper’s weight all but falls off all at once. There’s a dull thud and a disgruntled groan, and Rye knows Chili Pepper has managed to make it onto the table in one piece. She stands to her full height and swings her shoulders from side to side, back cracking as she arches it during her stretch.

“You sit me down… just to give me a show… Sheriff?”

Rye doesn’t have to turn around to know there’s a shit-eating grin plastered on the thief’s face. Still, she spins on her heel, boot squeaking against the rough wood. “Apparently ya ain’t as hurt as ya look if ya’ve got it in ya t’ give me lip,” she drawls. “’Sides, it ain’t much of a show for someone who can’t even see straight, isn’t that right?”

Sure enough, she’s met with the infuriating sight of Chili Pepper’s toothy grin. She looks more like someone that just scored a jackpot rather than a rotten criminal with an ugly gash on her side. Rye’s tongue clicks against the roof of her mouth again. Typical.

Rye huffs out a short sigh before circling over to the left side of the table. Her eyes narrow as she assesses the condition the thief is in. Though Chili Pepper acts carefree about it, Rye can see she’s in pain. Her chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths. There’s sweat beading on her forehead, matting fiery red curls to her skin. The hem of Chili Pepper’s black tank top had hiked up enough for the lower end of the gash to become visible. Rye’s nose wrinkles at the sight of it. It’s jagged and messy, oozing a viscous liquid the color of hot sauce that smells like spice and pepper. When Chili Pepper breathes in too deeply, a trickle of blood seeps out from beneath the hem of her tank top. Rye worries her chapped lower lip between her teeth. Even without seeing the full wound, she can tell this won’t be easy to clean up. Not in their current condition. Fortunately for them, she carries plenty of first aid tools in the pack strapped to her thigh. Unfortunately for them, it might not be enough. The bounty hunter curses beneath her breath. Damned goblins and their shitty little bombs. What good did those bastards even do when they fired off in every fucking direction?

She grabs onto the fray of her poncho and swiftly yanks it off. Next comes her hat, much as she hates to part with it. A mess of blonde hair tumbles down her shoulders, damp from sweat and rain. The braid running into her ponytail has come loose, leaving wisps of gold to tickle against her neck and face. She ignores it and clasps a gloved hand on Chili Pepper’s bare shoulder.

“Up,” she commands.

“Aye aye, Sheriff,” Chili Pepper slurs sarcastically, that stupid grin still on her face. Rye has half a mind to wipe it off for her.

Before she can snap back at the thief, Chili Pepper lurches upward in one sloppy motion—only to stiffen up and let out a hoarse cry. The sound momentarily freezes Rye in place. She’s never heard a sound like that come out of someone. An icy pang of worry stabs through Rye’s chest. Shit. _Shit._ She quickly folds her poncho into a makeshift pillow. As soon as she sets it down, Chili Pepper falls back with a weak groan. The women’s eyes meet. Pain clouds Chili Pepper’s dark eyes, her pupils blown out in the dark like a wild animal’s, redness creeping into the whites. The thief’s lips twitch. Rye thinks she’s trying to sneer up at her. Part of her wishes she was capable of it, if only to soothe some of the worry eating away at her.

Her jaw sets as she pulls her gloves off, haphazardly tossing them down onto a chipped wooden stool. “Okay. Let’s see what we’re workin’ with here,” she mutters, more for her own sake than Chili Pepper’s. She rolls up the hem of Chili Pepper’s soaked tank top. Her heart immediately drops into the pit of her stomach. There’s blood smeared all across the thief’s abdomen, congealed in small globs as it gets closer to the immediate opening of the wound. On the left side of the criminal’s stomach, diagonal to her navel, the worst of the gash burrows down into her flesh. Rye’s brows furrow low over her eyes. Chili Pepper must have been outside the range of Milk’s protective shield when the wave of goblin bombs hit. Trying to swipe some quick kills with her pepper daggers, no doubt. Her eyes continue to roam up the garish path of torn skin and come to a stop at the very top. A small fragment of shrapnel sticks out from just beneath the bottom of Chili Pepper’s rib. Rye presses her lips together in a thin, somber line. They’re in for a long, long night.

“What’s the verdict, doc?”

Chili Pepper’s gravelly query draws Rye out from her thoughts. The bounty hunter sighs. “Verdict’s that ya need t’ listen when yer told t’ get back ‘n duck for cover, jackass.”

The thief snorts but doesn’t offer up any retort. She tries to sit up and inspect the wound herself, but Rye bars her from doing any more than lifting her head. “Ah-ah. You be good ‘n just lay there. …I gotta pull out the shard that’s stuck in ya.”

“Ah, fuck,” Chili Pepper moans, baring her teeth in a snarl. She dramatically tosses her arm over her forehead, and from the looks of her contorted expression, immediately regrets it. “Aren’t you supposed to leave that shit in until a professional can take care of it?”

Rye doesn’t miss the nervous edge of the thief’s voice. She gives a terse shake of her head. “It’d be ideal, but no. Don’t think there’re gonna be any healers showin’ up in this neck o’ the woods any time soon. “‘Sides,” she unbuckles the pack strapped to her thigh and dumps it down onto the table by Chili Pepper’s leg. “I can’t get ya patched up if we leave it in.”

The other woman gives a grunt of indignation but refrains from arguing. Rye can feel Chili Pepper’s dubious gaze watching her every move as she takes out a roll of gauze, an old cloth, and a flask. The latter draws a rough chuckle from Chili Pepper. “Drinking on the job, are we?”

“Don’t you project yer habits onto me,” Rye snaps back while uncapping the flask. The harsh, metallic smell of alcohol wafts into the damp air, causing both women to scowl in displeasure. “Suck it up, buttercup,” Rye warns as she lifts the flask, “’Cause this’ll sting like a bitch.”

Before Chili Pepper has a chance to protest, Rye pours a generous amount of antiseptic along the wound. Chili Pepper goes rigid and a hiss seethes out from between her clenched teeth. Rye almost feels something akin to pity for her. Almost. At the moment she’s too preoccupied with the small amount of smug satisfaction swelling in her chest at having finally gotten to take a stab at Chili Pepper—even if not under the best or fairest circumstances. She would feel bad for it later, she knew. But who could judge her besides herself?

“Right. Now comes the fun part.” Rye splashes some of the antiseptic onto one hand, then rubs the two together. A burning sting crawls across the chafed skin of her wrists and calloused fingers. Instant karma, she figures.

Apprehension fills Rye as she wraps her fingers around the blood-slicked shard as best as she can. For a split second, the thief and the bounty hunter lock eyes. Chili Pepper offers a short nod. That’s all Rye needs. It only takes a few awful, drawn out moments of listening to Chili Pepper try not to verbalize her pain to wiggle the shard loose. Then comes the somewhat sickening sensation of feeling the shard finally give as she yanks it from Chili Pepper’s stomach. Chili Pepper’s back snaps off the table and her fingers dig down into the wooden surface as a bark of agony scrapes out from her throat. Fresh blood wells up in the wake of the removed shrapnel. It dribbles down Chili Pepper’s side. Aside from that, it doesn’t look like it’s getting any worse. Rye lets out a heavy breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

After laying the bloodied shard down on the stool next to her gloves, Rye grabs the old cloth and the antiseptic. There’s not much left in the bottle, but it would have to do. She dumps all the rest out onto the cloth before winding it into a blunt wad. She catches Chili Pepper’s wary stare when she turns back to face her. “Relax,” she says, hands hovering over Chili Pepper’s stomach. “I just gotta clog it. Make sure no more blood comes out. Or nothin’ else gets in, for that matter.”

Chili Pepper runs her tongue across her teeth as she considers this. Rye’s tempted to jam the cloth down while the thief is distracted by her own thoughts, but before she can do so, she’s given another short nod. Rye frowns. She almost wishes Chili Pepper would say something, anything, to tick her off. That would mean this wasn’t as big of a deal as it looked; that the worst of it was already over. Fine. If Chili Pepper won’t play the part of the hardass, she will. A few harsh words regarding Chili Pepper’s recklessness spark at the tip of her tongue. Her lips part. Not a single sound comes out. The sight of Chili Pepper bracing herself for the next wave of inevitable pain snuffs out all desire to antagonize her, just like that.

Without a word, she pushes the cloth up against the deepest part of the wound. A clipped breath stutters out from Chili Pepper’s nose, but aside from that, she doesn’t utter a single sound. Rye takes that as good a sign as she’ll get that she’s doing this right. Holding the cloth in place with one hand, she grabs the roll of gauze with the other. Hastily unrolling it, she prompts in a lowered voice, “Lift up. Gotta get this around you. Stitches’d be ideal, but I don’t got any o’ that on me.”

Her companion does as told without complaint. Chili Pepper lifts her hips off the table, giving Rye just enough room to begin winding the gauze around her stomach and lower torso. Rye keeps focused on the job at hand—or tries to. As the seconds tick by, she finds her gaze slowly wandering over Chili Pepper’s stomach. Now that it’s cleaned off properly, she can see the dips and curves of lean abs usually hidden behind the thief’s black tank top. Her hips have more sharpness than curve to them, with slender divots that disappear past her red belt. The carved lines of her pelvis peek out from the waistline of her pants. As does a little trail of red hair. Her abdomen is currently taut from strain, quivering slightly. Rye wants to run her fingers across it slowly, soothingly, until she can feel Chili Pepper relax. But all her fingers do in those next few moments is tear and tuck the last bit of gauze snugly into the folds of bandaging. As she secures it in place, her fingers skim over Chili Pepper’s skin. She stops short.

“Pepper, yer burnin’ up!” Rye gasps.

“Hnn… strange time t’ hit on me, Sh—”

“Zip it ‘n lift yer arms. I gotta get this off’a ya.” Rye’s already grabbing a fistful of Chili Pepper’s damp tank top and starting to tug it further up.

“Oi, we aren’t at that level yet,” Chili Pepper snarks, though her voice is hardly above a rough whisper.

Rye shoots her a sharp glare. “I said zip it. I ain’t havin’ ya shrivel up ‘n die from th’ cold out in shitsville nowhere.”

The thief sneers, “Hah, wouldn’t that be ideal for ya, Sheriff? No more chasing after me day ‘n night.” 

Something about that plucks at Rye’s nerves, and certainly not in the way she assumes Chili Pepper had intended for it to. The bounty hunter shakes her head. “I ain’t traumatizin’ those kids by draggin’ ya home dead as a doornail. You can die on yer own time, just not right now.” 

From the corner of her eye, Rye sees Chili Pepper’s sardonic smirk slip away. Guilt coils in her gut as she pulls the black tank top up and over Chili Pepper’s head. Part of her wishes she hadn’t said that, even if it’s the truth. She might want to get Chili Pepper tossed in jail faster than the thief can blink, but that doesn’t mean she wants to cause unnecessary pain for others to accomplish it. She’s seen the way those kids flock to Chili Pepper. They hang on to her every word when she speaks. They adore her. And while Rye questions just how on Earthbread a notorious thief of all people had become their role model, she doesn’t want to take that from them. Not while they’re trying so hard to make a home for everyone. She’d be worse than any criminal she’s wrangled off the streets if she forced those kids to part with someone they cared about too soon. 

She glances down at Chili Pepper’s prone body. The thief is shivering. Rye bites the inside of her cheek. She peers around the dark room again, searching for anything she can use to keep them at least a little bit warmer. Her gaze settles on an oven tucked away in the far right corner. Its door hangs slightly ajar. From what she can see, it’s the kind that uses wood; old-fashioned, a near perfect solution. If she were Milk, she would have fallen to her knees and thanked the good spirits that be for blessing them. Then again, if she were Milk, this whole ordeal would have ended a lot sooner. 

The bounty hunter tugs her shirt out from her pants and begins to unbutton it. As she shrugs it off, she hears Chili Pepper choke on her own breath. 

“Hey now, I... thought I was th’... hot one.” 

Rye rolls her eyes. “Ya are. Ya’ve got a fever ‘n you’re shiverin’ like a cake-pup. Ya need somethin’ on ya ‘sides that l’il sports bra while I get things nice ‘n toasty in here.” She drapes her shirt over Chili Pepper, making sure the fabric covers as much of her as possible. Their gazes briefly meet when Rye turns to head over to the oven. There’s something vulnerable in Chili Pepper’s eyes that makes her hesitate. But then the thief’s eyes flutter closed, and she briskly walks away. 

She makes quick work of getting everything set up. There’s a whole pile of firewood left unused for who knows how many years, far away enough from the leak that it will burn nicely. She stacks a generous amount in the oven. After rummaging around in a pantry on the back wall, she hauls out a few bulging sacks of flour and arranges them in a two-by-two pile in front of the oven. She surveys her setup, nods in approval, then digs into a small pack slung over her hip. She pulls out a box of matches, strikes one, and tosses it in. Fanning the flames so they finally reach a comfortable roar takes longer than she would have liked. At least it worked. Best not to look the gift horse in the mouth. 

Turning back to her companion, Rye nearly stops dead in her tracks. Chili Pepper looks so incredibly weak. Though her shaking has lessened, she’s still trembling, with fists clenched tight and jaw set in a hard line. Her eyes are still closed, and Rye can see dark shadows beneath them. She looks like anything but the rotten criminal Rye has come to picture her as. Her heart sinks a little as she remembers how smug she’d felt about Chili Pepper’s current condition not too long ago. Since when had she gotten into the business of reveling in another’s prolonged misery? Not even her sworn enemy deserved that. Especially not right now.

Her footsteps sound far too loud as she walks back over to the table. For a few moments Rye only watches the rise and fall of Chili Pepper’s chest. She wonders if she ought to just leave her there. The warmth from the fire will eventually spread through the room, and she’s not sure moving Chili Pepper while she’s in this state is a good idea. When a visible shiver runs through the thief’s rigid body, Rye makes her decision. Wordlessly, she slips her forearms beneath Chili Pepper; one under her shoulders and the other behind her knees. That rouses Chili Pepper enough for her to grunt and attempt to twist herself away, but Rye already has a firm hold on her. 

“Just stay still, Pepper. Ain’t doin’ nothin’ but gettin’ ya closer t’ the fire.” 

Only after Chili Pepper relaxes does Rye lift her up, snagging her poncho off the table in the process. Her bare fingers grip Chili Pepper’s shoulder, drawing the thief closer up against her chest. It’s then that she remembers she’s completely bare from the waist up, save for her compression bra. Heat creeps up her neck and the tips of her ears as Chili Pepper’s bare skin brushes against hers. She doesn’t give herself time to dwell on it. She turns and walks back to the fire as quickly as she can without jostling Chili Pepper. It takes most of what’s left of her strength to lower the two of them down slowly and gently. A wave of exhaustion crashes down on her as soon as she hits the ground. She leans her back and head against the stacked flour bags with a gravelly groan. Her eyes fall shut as the warmth of the crackling fire washes across her body, easing her aching muscles and blanketing her in shallow but welcome comfort. Her chest heaves with a deep, slow sigh. That’s when she feels Chili Pepper shift weakly against her. 

“Ease up there. Ya don’t need t’ be squirmin’ ‘round like a jellyworm. It’ll make it worse,” she mutters, head still tipped back and eyes still closed. 

She doesn’t think Chili Pepper will respond, so she’s surprised when she hears the other woman rasp, “The hell’re you doing?”

Rye cracks one of her eyes open with a scowl. “Keepin’ you warm, ya damn ingrate.” 

“Ugh, I mean-- just… can’t you put me on the floor?”

Rye considers this for a second. “Nope,” she announces, popping the ‘p’. She offers no explanation for her decision. 

She’s not even sure she has one. Maybe because it’s easier for her to keep warm this way, too. Chili Pepper’s body heat mingles with her own, providing a gentle solace she hasn’t felt in years. The thief’s body also feels nice against hers. It’s grounding. It’s _nice._ And as the fire blazes and envelopes both of them with its warmth, she realizes that her arm has moved up to wrap around Chili Pepper’s shoulder while the other drapes over her knees. It feels so natural she almost hadn’t noticed. A twinge of something akin to panic shoots through the bounty hunter’s gut. The sudden urge to shove Chili Pepper off of her springs up so quickly that her body stiffens and locks in place. Her fingers dig into Chili Pepper’s skin, drawing a displeased grunt from the other woman. Her heartbeat starts to pound in her ears. ‘ _You can’t trust nobody, you can’t lean on nobody; you’re the one that went off on your own, so walk on your own,’_ her own voice echoes rings in her ear, cold and cruel as the howling winds outside. She’s got to get out. She can’t let this happen, or else--

“Ease up there, Sheriff.” 

She flinches back into reality when Chili Pepper repeats her own words right back to her. She blinks and flicks her gaze downward. Chili Pepper’s eyes are partially cracked open and examining her with dark scrutiny. Rye’s upper lip curls a little. She almost snaps back at the thief to mind her own business. That would be the pot calling the kettle black, though. Besides, the longer she holds Chili Pepper’s gaze, the less on edge she feels. There’s no judgment in those dark, tired eyes. No criticism, no sardony, no pity, no malice. Only empathy-- guarded, but still there. Rye’s heart flips in her chest. She gives Chili Pepper a single nod and forces herself to relax. The cadence of their shared breathing works to assuage the stiffness in her shoulders, drawing her further and further back into that imperfect bliss she’d felt before. 

Silence lapses between the two women, save for the crackling of the fire and the raging tantrum of the storm outside. The roof occasionally creaks, and the leak over in the back left corner dribbles in an off-beat rhythm. Above it all, Rye can still hear the ebb and flow of Chili Pepper’s breath. It’s starting to become more even and drawn out. The bounty hunter starts to count between each inhale and exhale. 1, 2, 3… 1, 2, 3. Her own breathing starts to become more subdued. The panic from before attempts to chew its way back into her mind, but it can’t quite penetrate through her overwhelming exhaustion. Her fingers curl against Chili Pepper’s arm. She might fall asleep like this. It wouldn’t be so bad, really. The worst that can happen is waking up with a crick in her neck and a sore back, but she reckons she would have to suffer with both of those the next morning anyhow. 

The sound of Chili Pepper clearing her throat stops her before she can start to drift off. “Think those brats’re alright?” 

“Ah…” Rye’s gaze rolls back to stare at the dark ceiling. After a second or two, she gives a firm nod. “‘Course they are. Adventurer, Yam, ‘n Milk were with ‘em. Well,” Rye clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth, “Guess Adventurer’d be more of a liability than a help with wranglin’ the little ‘uns to safety. Dumbass probably tried t’ scale th’ rubble after it all settled.” That draws a dry chuckle from Chili Pepper. Rye smiles as well. Absentmindedly, she pats her hand against Chili Pepper’s shoulder as reassurance. “I reckon they got back t’ the Jellybear town just fine ‘fore the storm hit.” 

Chili Pepper says nothing in response, but Rye feels the thief relax against her and knows that her mind’s been put at ease, at least for that worry. It makes her feel more relaxed as well. Funny, that. She’s never been one to describe herself as empathetic. She certainly wouldn’t use that as a descriptor for the thief, either. Yet, to her surprise, she doesn’t wonder if Chili Pepper only asked to feign concern. Rye had heard the genuine worry in her voice. 

‘ _She’s too weak to cover it up._ ’ 

The thought sends an alarm bell off in Rye’s head. It makes sense. Too much sense. As much as she loathes to admit it, even if just to herself, she’s noticed how much Chili Pepper is like her. A loner, dead-set on getting whatever she lays her eyes on, sinking her teeth in and not letting go. It’s infuriating and admirable all at the same time. Chili Pepper is the type who does anything she can to get what she’s decided she wants, consequences and safety be damned. But there’s always cunning there, always that intelligent spark in the thief’s eye whenever she pulls a stunt. Even when it comes to other people. Oh-- but there it is, that thought of other people. Rye knows. She’s the same way. Neither of them are very accustomed to company. Company holds the motivated and the strong back. It keeps them from being wild and free and vicious and unrelenting. It makes them grow roots. It makes them prone to reckless abandonment that’s actually damning in every single way. And when that happens, things don’t go according to plan. Chili Pepper obviously never planned on getting hurt. Not this badly, anyway. And so she finally asks what’s been on her mind all night. 

“Why didn’t ya get back?”

There are a few beats of silence following Rye’s question. Chili Pepper heaves out a shaky breath. Her warm breath fans out over Rye’s collarbone and neck, and the bounty hunter instinctually cradles her closer. When Chili Pepper speaks, her voice comes out in a ragged whisper, “Wizard… he ran out of mana. Couldn’t move very well. I had t’ pull him back. Had t’ get him to safety.”

Rye’s eyes widen. She’d _saved_ Wizard? Now that she thought about it, it made sense. Right before the landslide had separated them from the rest of the group, she had seen Chili Pepper lunging forward and reaching out for something. At the time she had assumed the thief was slashing at the enemy, too focused on cutting a path through them to notice that the bombs’ explosion had sent masses of sugar stone tumbling down. A pang of guilt reverberates in Rye’s chest. She’s been way too quick to judge Chili Pepper. She has her reasons for it— damn good reasons at that –but that still didn’t do much to stop remorse from eating at her. Her shoulders hunch forward as if to shield Chili Pepper from the howling winds outside. Her heart stutters when the thief shifts in closer to her chest.

“My turn, Sheriff. Why didn’t you just… haul me back ‘n… toss me in the slammer? Don’t say it’s because of the storm.”

Her immediate reply comes out in a harsh growl, “’Cause I’m a bounty hunter, not a fuckin’ buzzard.” She breathes in deeply and exhales slowly, watching how her breath ruffles Chili Pepper’s wild red curls. When she speaks again, her voice comes out much softer. “That’s t’ say I ain’t one t’ kick someone while they’re down. Anyway, we’ve got a truce for now, yeah? I don’t go back on my word. Not even if it’s given to a rotten thief.”

“Truce, huh…” Rye feels Chili Pepper’s breath puff out against her tawny skin again, this time in a soundless laugh. “Didn’t realize we… had one.”

“Hmph. Guess we do now.”

“Don’t think I won’t take advantage of it?”

Rye thought for a second. “...Nah. ‘Cause you’ll make those kids cry if you do.”

“You can’t keep using them against me.” Rye could swear she almost hears a pout in Chili Pepper’s protest. 

“Fine then. I got no proof ya won’t. Quite th’ contrary.” Chili Pepper snickers at that, and Rye’s own smile quirks a bit wider. “I’m just given’ it to ya ‘cause I can. Up t’ you if ya want it.” 

“Mmm… giving it to me…” Chili Pepper says the words slowly, as if she doesn’t quite understand them. Her voice slips to a murmur so quiet, Rye strains to hear it over the popping of the fire. “Think I like the sound of that.” 

Rye doesn’t respond verbally. Instead, she momentarily lifts her hand away from Chili Pepper’s shoulder to grab her poncho. It’s mostly dried out now, so she awkwardly pulls it up and over both her and Chili Pepper. Once it’s settled, only Chili Pepper’s head remains above the folds of fabric. She looks ridiculous. Rye lets out a humored little hum, then lets her head fall back against the sacks of flour. Within the next few minutes, their breathing begins to even out, growing deeper, before both have fallen asleep, lulled by their shared warmth. 

* * *

Light weakly filtering in through the doorway wakes Rye the next morning. Her eyes slowly blink open. A groggy groan falls from her lips as she stiffly stretches her arms up and over her head. Her body aches all over. She arches her back off the sacks of flour, twisting and turning her upper body to work some feeling back into it. She slowly slides her sore legs out, glad they’re not pinned beneath Chili Pepper’s weight anymore. 

‘ _Wait a damn second…_ ’ 

Rye scrambles to her feet and whips her head from side to side, eyes wildly roving over the room. The fire’s been doused. Chili Pepper’s tank top lays in a wad on the stool next to Rye’s gloves, hat, and the bloodied fragment. Her pack lays haphazardly on the table next to a few splotches of dry blood. Her shirt is gone. So is her flask. Her hands fly down to her hips, and her upper lip instantly curls into a snarl. One of her guns was missing too. Damn it. Damn it all. She tries to extend an olive branch and this is her thanks for it: having the whole thing snatched from her hand, olive and all, before she can even amicably let go.

The bounty hunter yanks her poncho up and over her head, slaps her hat back in place, and snatches her gloves up. She pauses for a second to stare down at Chili Pepper’s tank top. She grinds her teeth together and turns on her heel, storming up the short staircase with heavy stomps. She practically kicks the decrepit door off its rusted hinges. Her fingers curl around the handle of her gun, expertly sliding it from the holster on her hip as she bursts into the windmill’s main room. She abruptly stops her rampage. 

There, by the entrance of the windmill, stands Chili Pepper. She leans against the wooden frame with her legs crossed at the ankle and her arms folded loosely over her chest. Rye’s missing gun dangles from where it’s hooked on two of the thief’s fingers. She’s wearing Rye’s shirt. The sleeves are rolled back up her elbows, and the top three buttons remain undone, exposing the scarred, ruddy skin of Chili Pepper’s collarbone and upper chest. The thief looks over languidly and raises an eyebrow at Rye’s drawn gun. 

“Sheesh, you really do come into everything guns a-blazing, huh?” she remarks, an impish grin spreading across her face.

Rye scowls. “You bet yer spicy ass I do. What the hell’re you doin’?” she demands. 

Chili Pepper sighs and pushes herself off the doorway, wincing as she does so. She ambles over as if taking a stroll through the park and not facing the wrong side of a whole grain barrel. “Woke up before you did, had to stretch. I heard Madeleine and Adventurer callin’ for us. Search party.” She holds out Rye’s gun flat on her palm. “Fired off a round so they’d hear it and see the smoke from the fire. Said they’d be back with two more sugar horses ‘n Milk to heal us up. They’ll be back any second now.” 

Rye snatches the gun from Chili Pepper’s extended hand, then simultaneously shoves the two back down in their respective holsters. She cants her head. “Flask too, Pepper.” 

“Ugh, whatever,” the thief rolls her eyes as she reaches into her back pocket and produces the empty flask. Her grin only grows wider. 

Something about it makes Rye give her own gruff smile. It only lasts a second before she gestures towards the other woman. “What’cha doin’ with my shirt on ya? Ya’ve got a perfectly good one back in there. Just ‘cause we got a truce don’t mean you can go takin’ shit all willy-nilly. I _will_ still give ya a shiner for it.” 

Surprise momentarily flashes through Chili Pepper’s eyes at the word ‘truce’, followed by an uncertainty that settles into acceptance. The thief closes her eyes and rolls her head from side to side, popping her neck. “You didn’t dry it properly last night, so it’s still soggy. No way in hell I’m putting that back on.” 

Well, Rye supposes that makes enough sense for her to let it slide. She sighs and rubs the side of her neck. “Fine then. But that means you get t’ wash it once we’re back. That’s non-negotiable.” 

Chili Pepper lets out a loud, rough laugh that catches Rye off guard. The woman grimaces and presses a hand against her wounded side as she quiets down again. “Fine then, but if you leave anything in your pockets and it goes missing, consider it a fee.”

It’s Rye’s turn to chuckle; a low, purring noise that feels odd but welcome in the center of her chest. “Deal.” 

As the word falls from her lips, the sound of hoofbeats thunders from further down the road. The two women turn to look through the grimy window to their left. In the distance, Five sugar horses and three figures crest the barren hill leading into the ghost town. Chili Pepper moves in closer, until they’re nearly standing shoulder to shoulder. 

“What do ya say we pack the rest of our shit up and meet them halfway, Sheriff?” 

“Reckon it’s a good move. But I ain’t givin’ you another free piggyback ride.”

“Eh, don’t care. You’ve given me enough already.” 

A small smile works its way onto Rye’s lips as she walks back into the backroom to retrieve the rest of their things. She figures that’s Chili Pepper’s way of showing she accepted the truce for now, so she’ll gladly take it.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Cookie Run community, I'm Mono and I haven't written fic in 7 years and I am thrilled that homoerotic cookie tension brought me back into it. Thanks to Kurt, Jin, and Vera for test-reading and helping me fix up the final work! Kudos and/or comments appreciated ♡


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